and of expressing
her gratitude to Tom, Miss Lucinda forgot for the time the deadly
weight of guilt that rested upon her. It was not until the conductor
called for her ticket that her heart grew cold, and a look of
consternation swept over her face. It seemed to her that he eyed the
pass suspiciously and when he did not return it a terror seized her. She
knew he was coming back to ask her name, and what was her name? Mrs.
Dora Luring, or Mrs. Dura Loring, or Mrs. Lura Doring?

In despair she fled to the dressing room and stood there concealed by
the curtains. In a few moments the conductor passed, and she peeped at
his retreating figure. He stopped in the narrow passage by the window
and studied her pass, then he compared it with a telegram which he held
in his hand. Just then the porter joined him, and she flattened herself
against the wall and held her breath.

"It's the same name," she heard the conductor say in an undertone. "I'll
wire back to headquarters at the next stop."

If ever retribution followed an erring soul, it followed Miss Lucinda on
that trip. No one spoke to her, and nothing happened, but she sat in
terrified suspense, looking neither to right nor left, her heart beating
frantically at every approach, and the whirring wheels repeating the
questioning refrain, "Dora Luring? Dura Loring? Lura Doring?"

In New York, Floss met her as she stepped off the train, fairly
enveloping her in her enthusiasm.

"Here you are, you old darling! I have been having a fit a minute for
fear you wouldn't come. This is my Cousin May. She is going to stay with
us the whole week. New York is simply heavenly, Miss Lucy. We have made
four engagements already. Matinee this afternoon, a dinner
to-night--What's the matter? Did you leave anything on the train?"

"No, no," stammered Miss Lucinda, still casting furtive glances backward
at the conductor. "Was he talking to a policeman?" she asked
suspiciously.

"Who?"

"The conductor."

The girls laughed.

"I don't wonder you were scared," said Floss; "a policeman always does
remind me of Miss Joe Hill."

They called a cab and, to Miss Lucinda's vast relief, were soon rolling
away from the scene of danger.

* * * * *

It needed only one glance into a handsome suite of an up-town hotel one
week later to prove the rapid moral deterioration of the prodigal.

Arrayed in a shell-pink kimono, she was having her nails manicured. Her
gaily